


Is A Luxury

by AzcaSky



Category: ONEUS (Band), ONEWE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood, Implied Sexual Content, Injury, M/M, Violence, keonhee and cya are drug dealers, mention of other weus member, mentioned background character death, mentioned drug use, police officer yonghoon, use of firearm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26696581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzcaSky/pseuds/AzcaSky
Summary: After a year, Seoho comes back to the town he ran away from.
Relationships: Jin Yonghoon/Lee Seoho, Lee Giwook | Cya/Lee Keonhee, Lee Keonhee/Lee Seoho
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21
Collections: WEUS Harvest Moon Fest





	Is A Luxury

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Drug / drug use / overdose are implied and mentioned, but not described graphically. Use of firearm near the end. Violence / blood / injury are mentioned throughout the story. Also implicit sexual content.
> 
> This whole fic revolves around drug dealer vs police force, kind of, but for personal reason I didn't dwell deep on the research, so there might be a lot of inaccuracies. I ask you to ignore it in the name of creative liberty, but if there is any major inaccuracy feel free to contact me / comment. 
> 
> For prompter! The prompt is "I didn't mean what I said. There's a little bit of truth in everything I say but i've always been a compulsive liar" ; I decided to erase the compulsive part, because I don't feel confident with my research. I hope this is still enjoyable to you!

Being back in town after almost a year of not even daring to step inside its border is exhilarating.

Nothing changes. Not the mostly dead neon sign, nor the vague smell of beer from the alleyways. Yet, to Seoho, it feels unfamiliar, like he is stepping into it with his ears closed. There is something that he used to be able to naturally sense, but he gave it up, along with the life in this street, for the sake of his supposedly new life, however temporary that was.

For a promise that he no longer has to be involved, no longer needs to hide.

But he’s back here, back in the streets he knows so well, the moment Dongju announced that his trail is no longer searched.

"Keonhee-ya!"

There's sudden movement and noise, of someone bolting to the cue of his yell. There’s a sound of Keonhee swearing, but then he looks at Seoho and his face relents.

"I'm sorry," Seoho approaches him, placing easy arm over his shoulder, knowing perfectly well how his action just now impacted Keonhee, "Were you dealing?"

Keonhee shakes his head, then cracks open a blueberry flavored Frozz and pours at least four into his mouth, chewing loudly. If Seoho doesn’t know better, he’d think that the candy is mixed, but Keonhee has been trying to stop for a long while now, even before Seoho left, and so this must be just candy, because sugar is a much more lenient addiction compared to what he used to consume, "He doesn't have that much money anyway. It was a lost."

Seoho hums, pretends that it still concerns him. Keonhee doesn't take the bait. He never does, with Seoho. Even seeing him here, suddenly, unannounced, doesn’t surprise him.

"How about you? What are you doing at this side of the town? I thought you quitted."

There's a lie at the tip of his tongue, _oh, I was just passing by, there was this document I need to get done by today, and the building is just at the end of this street, and I just thought I could walk around for a bit, see if anything changes,_ but he bites his tongue, and settles for a half truth. "It's kind of a habit, I guess."

Keonhee nods, and that's all they can talk about. Because Seoho no longer has the privilege to ask about the sales, to divulge juicy details about whose sons are already hooked, whose daughters start to ask around. Seoho—no, Gunmin—used to be so good at that, extracting information from the street, spreading rumors to fish new buyers. And then Keonhee would be waiting in the rendezvous place, sometimes a forgotten alley, sometimes a playground late at night, always inconspicuous, always abandoned, perfect for people like them, people who have no one to turn to. Keonhee was good at talking, still is, and soon enough loners became addicts, another bills in their pockets, another life in their grasp.

Seoho doesn't want to think about that.

"Who are you working with now?" There's a genuine concern this time, because Keonhee might end up working alone, and being alone in this kind of industry is a surefire to a cold morning corpse.

"Kiwook," Keonhee says, "The kid that just entered when you were busy with that new variant. You remember, right? That one kid that always wears a bandana."

Seoho remembers, of course he does.

Kiwook was a bright kid, who learned tricks faster than anyone else. There was a time when Seoho approached him, intending to welcome him with jovial greetings, but the kid beat him to it. He tossed a silver cross earring embedded with pearl to Seoho, who caught it and laughed, _Your first pay, kid?_ The kid smiled, and said with a very light, very cheerful voice, _No, Gunmin-hyung, I stole it,_ then laughed at Seoho's bewildered face.

If there is someone who could be better than him, more resourceful, more sneaky, it would be Kiwook. He's practically born for the street. Or so he supposes.

"I see." But he doesn't, not really. Because he still has a hard time seeing Keonhee work with anyone else that is not him, and the fact that Keonhee's earlier case was a lost annoyed him. He would never sent Keonhee on a lost.

Kiwook is a good snatcher, but he's not a good informer, and apparently a worse enticer.

"Don't worry so much, hyung," Keonhee says, patting his butt, "We're doing okay."

"I'm not worried," Seoho lies again, and this time he doesn't know why he doesn't just say that he is.

Keonhee sends him away with a smile, and Seoho knows full well that his purse had moved pockets. He doesn't bother. If his few cash can buy Keonhee a nice set of meal, he'd be more than happy.

-

On the way home, Seoho passed a payphone booth. It is grey, and, despite being clean, is old. Its glass wall is full of scratches and remnants of duct tapes and stickers. The base platform is almost black from street dirt.

As much as it is unappealing to him, it reminds him of Youngjo.

He knows Youngjo's number by heart—everyone in the base has to, just in case they are ever caught. At this hour, Youngjo would be there with Hwanwoong and Harin, mixing meth and counting money. It will be easy, putting a single coin and dialing, saying a simple "I'm going back," and everything would be the way it was.

Before he knows it, Seoho is already inside the booth, holding the receiver. He reaches for his pocket, hoping for a coin forgotten somewhere in the folds of his pants. What he finds, instead, is his wallet, intact, with only his cash missing, and a pack of blueberry flavored Frozz, still sealed shut.

Seoho stops and stares, mixed emotion bubbling to his throat.

He opens the pack of candy, and puts two pieces into his mouth, letting it melt slowly into his tongue.

He leaves without making a call.

-

When he left the town, there was a certain hope that his life was going to be different. To Seoho, that meant entering academy and getting certificates for a normal work and getting out of the street. He had enough money for that and a little bit more, leading a normal life with a normal job. He could have stayed in that city, having friends who don’t do crime on daily basis. It could be a good life.

So it feels like a big lie, when Seoho rents an apartment on the opposite side of the part of the town he used to reside in. He calls it _coping_ , how he stays on big road while he was looking for laundromat and grocery store, pretends that he’s not familiar with every nook and cranny of the small alley in this town his mind can’t escape from. There will be no need of street knowledge, now, not anymore.

For the most part, that works. He’s normal. He can be.

He’s buying grocery, that afternoon, when he sees a man with a big paper bag, heading to the exit. The man holds the bag in a way that has his sight to the front mostly compromised. Seoho’s legs move, almost on autopilot. He nudges a stray tray before standing a step away, hands moving to reach the sardines display on the lower aisle. He doesn’t realize it, what he did, until the man topples over with a lot of exclamation and a few swears. Seoho pretends to be surprised as he quickly helps the man pick mushrooms from under the display biscuits.

"Here, I think it's the last one," Seoho hands him the last pack of ramyeon that had somehow been stuck between canned fruit display, and the man receives it with such relieved face that Seoho feels a pinch of guilt. A staff comes over them with two more grocery bag, advising him to carry it on his two hands instead of having it covering his face, reassuring the man that _it’s okay, it happens, no need to apologize._

The man finally faces Seoho again, smiling apologetically, "Thank you, I think I owe you one. I'll treat you to a meal if I don't have people waiting for me,"

"Don't worry about it," Seoho smiles back, "Be careful on your way,"

Seoho almost picked his pocket out of reflex.

-

_“Are you sure you want to be back there?”_

_They were at the bus station, Seoho lugging his backpack, Dongju with a bus ticket in his hand._

_Seoho gulped, fiddling with the end of his sleeve, “Yeah,”_

_“After all the things I did?”_

_Seoho hung his head, didn’t dare to face Dongju's judging eyes, “I’m sorry,”_

_Dongju snorted, “Don’t save our numbers, memorize it_.” _He gave Seoho his ticket, and walked away._

_It was Seoho who could not tear his face away from where Dongju last stood, until the departure notice had been announced._

-

"Catch him!"

Someone crashes to him high speed, sending both of them tumbling on the sidewalk. Seoho glances at him, scrawny boy with oversized jacket and bandana, looking at him with a glare so sharp it could pierce. _Kiwook_. But what the fuck is he doing here, so far out of their territory? The boy runs away after lightly pushing something to Seoho's hand.

"Hey!" Someone is approaching him, giving worried look, "You alright?"

Seoho stands and dusts off his body, pretending that he’s more hurt than he is, "Yeah, I think so." He looks up to realize that the man standing in front of him is the same man he almost stole from in the grocery store the other day.

The man grimaces, "Nasty pickpocket."

Seoho chuckles, "I'm sorry for stopping you, but I'm really alright. If you want to keep chasing him." He knows he won't catch Kiwook even if he wants to. Nobody can catch Kiwook, especially when he's dead set on escaping.

"It's okay, I wouldn't be able to catch up anyway." The man says, sighing, "I think I'm getting old."

"What did he steal?" Seoho says, holding out something Kiwook gave him, something that looks like a wallet, "Is this it?"

"You—" The man grabs it then opens it to check, and Seoho’s eyes widen. It’s a police insignia. "How?"

Seoho chuckles, pretends that it doesn’t surprise him, "He dropped it when we crashed, I guess. Pretty clumsy for a thief, isn't he?"

"I—" The man looks at Seoho, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. It’d be ridiculous for a police officer to not have his license, right?"

"I’m Yonghoon.” He frowns, then seems to remember, “You’re the one from the other day, right? Who helped me with my groceries?”

“We need to stop meeting like this,” Seoho laughs, amicable, playing along, “My name is Seoho, by the way.” _Seoho. Not Gunmin. Not anymore._

"Nice to meet you, Seoho." They shake hands, warm and firm, and Seoho thinks how Yonghoon is such a textbook good person, someone who definitely doesn’t deserve his or Kiwook’s little scheme. “Say, do you want to stop for a coffee, maybe? My treat, as a thanks.”

They don’t end up getting coffee, but they’re having lunch in the apparently famous chicken porridge place, a little across the street. (A few years ago, it used to be just a chicken place that sells shitty chicken as a front to sell weed, until the owner got caught, and it was empty for a long while. It feels strange to see it bustling with people, actual people who come to eat, not half dead youths trying to get high.)

They eat and talk, and the chicken porridge is tasty, to Seoho’s surprise (it’s a legit business now, what a surprise). Yonghoon is a kind, comfortable man, and it’s almost too easy for Seoho to find out that the man is older than him by two years, a young and rising police officer, newly assigned to Department of Illegal Substance, on his way to go back to the station after handling a case.

“Today is just a really bad day,” He says, slurping at his iced americano, and Seoho bites down his grimace, knowing that what happened to him was a little more than coincidence, “How about you?”

It's relatively easy to fake a backstory. He just have to pick one of the dozens scenario that he has rehashed thousands of times. Even so, he had never entertained a scenario where he helped a police officer from the organized scheme he’s almost being part of, no scenario of getting treated to lunch by a young and handsome police officer who might happen to be related to his past life. But guessing what Kiwook meant is easy, so Seoho lets his instinct kicks in, going with a truth flavored lie, about a boy who tried to set out on random town after graduating.

Yonghoon believes him, his eyes filled with wonder and even a bit of admiration, because _you’re so brave_. Seoho wants to laugh because it can’t be further from the truth, and he wonders if people from Illegal Substance Department are so gullible to lies. It’s funny, hilariously so, that Yonghoon believes him so readily, without a single doubt, without questions.

"I have to go soon, but can we meet again? It might be better if we actually know each other so we don't always meet in ridiculous situation."

"Please, it was just coincidence,"

"No, no," Yonghoon smiles, getting his phone out, "I think it was fate,"

Seoho's heart clenches. He's someone who believes in fate, red string, soulmate, all those romance. He believes that things happen for a reason, and that everyone would face that fateful meeting, an unforgettable turning point at least once in their life. Those kind of romantic thoughts don’t hold a place in the kind of environment he grew up in. And yet he believed it, still believes it, even after everything he went through. This moment, right here, with Yonghoon’s hand stretched towards him, with the buzzes of conversation as their background noise, feels like a beginning of something. It’s the closest Seoho can feel about fated meeting, and it’s built on a lie. Is this the universe’s way to say that he should give up?

"Wouldn't it be too much to call it fate? It's a small town, after all, we’re bound to meet each other."

"Even so, I'd want to invite you over to meal. You have painstakingly picked those mushrooms off the floor after all."

"Alright, then," It would be easy, to bail out of this. He can enter a false number, change a digit, and then never see him for the rest of their lives. Kiwook and his schemes can fuck off.

Seoho looks at the touchscreen, at the glaring numbers on its keypad, at the day mode with brightness set a tad bit too harsh. He braves a glance at Yonghoon, who smiles, _beams_ , at him, with eyes so pure and full of hope that Seoho just—

"Here you go," Seoho returns the phone, with his number, his _real_ number, saved under the name of _Lee Seoho_ , "See you soon,"

-

“Why did you give it to me?” Seoho should have expected this, that Kiwook is there in the first alley he steps in, waiting for him, “Why did you _tail_ me?”

“I just want to let you know, hyung.” Unlike him, Kiwook is not really built for lies. The kid can hide expression, keep a poker face, but he can’t lie. There’s a trace of nervousness, a smidge of hesitation, and it’s all Seoho needs to know that his words are bullshit.

“And if I know, then what?” Kiwook looks away, eyes frowning stubbornly as he balls his fist a little tighter. “We wouldn’t have met again. I wouldn’t _need_ to meet him again. But now he thinks I saved him, _thanks to you_.”

Kiwook smirks, “Don’t you like it, though, hyung? You have always liked playing hero. You’re his hero, now.”

Seoho punches him on the cheek, hard enough that the impact throws Kiwook’s body to the wall. Kiwook coughs a few times before gritting his teeth. There’s blood on his lips, and fire in his eyes, but he grounds his feet, limps his arms, not even trying to retaliate. It pisses Seoho off even more, because Kiwook still gives him the respect he no longer deserves. He’s not Gunmin anymore, not the one Kiwook used to look up to when he brought a huge haul of name lists, not the one who used to put him under the not-so-kind _training_ , not the one who challenged him into extreme games. That Gunmin no longer exists. This, now, is not a training, not a game.

Seoho grabs his collar with both hands, shoving him hard onto the rolling door, “Don’t fuck with me, Kiwook. I never want to go there again. I want to have nothing to do with this anymore.” Their faces are only centimeters apart, and from this distance he can see Kiwook’s pupil dilate, can feel his breath getting hitched. He stares for a few seconds, and, with a final shove, steps back and away, leaving Kiwook slumped down like a puppet without string.

“Hyung! We need your help! Can’t you do it just this once?” Kiwook shouts, and Seoho pretends he doesn’t hear.

He intends to leave without looking back.

-

When he gets to his apartment, Keonhee is leaning to his door, both hands buried deep inside his pocket, chewing a bubble gum. At this point, he doesn’t even want to question his presence.

“Leave.”

Keonhee raises his eyebrow, stares at the way Seoho stands a few meters apart, all guarded and prickly, “Someone seems to be in a bad mood,”

“Please just leave.”

Keonhee looks at him in silence, and Seoho grows more and more agitated by the stare that doesn’t change and doesn’t budge. “Hyung—”

“I said _leave_!” Seoho is shouting before he realizes it, and he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to cause a commotion, doesn’t want the neighbors to think that there’s something to see, and most importantly, he doesn’t want to lose his temper in front of _Keonhee_. He flinches at his own voice, and he knows Keonhee sees right through it.

Keonhee raises both hands, “Okay, okay,” he shuffles a bit, but pushes himself off the door, to the street, “I’m going,”

Seoho opens the door and slams it behind him, not bothering to check if Keonhee is even there to see it.

Once inside, he sees the empty apartment, the boxes of things he hasn’t gotten around to unpack even after a week, the socks at the entrance he never managed to put into the laundry basket, the bare walls, bare floor, the light switch with a lick of excess paint, and suddenly he feels so heavy, so lonely, so overwhelmed, like it’s too much and he’s afraid, so afraid.

He takes a sharp breath and turns back, opening the door. There’s a yell on the tip of his tongue, a shout and scream wanting release, but instead there is Keonhee, still standing outside, leaning towards the wall on the other side.

“Hey,” Keonhee says, simply, and Seoho rushes towards him, pulls him by his collar and kisses his lips. It’s the roughest of kiss, frantic, agitated, just like how their kisses used to be. Seoho doesn’t want to have to come back to this, because even this is also a part of life he wishes he doesn’t need to revisit, but Keonhee is his comfort, has always been. Seoho’s brain registers it as such, releasing the sense of familiarity and security in the way he drags Keonhee inside, manhandling him into the space that he so wants to call home. He doesn’t release his grip on Keonhee even as they stumble and fumble through the door and the steps, half heartedly removing their shoes somewhere along the way. There’s a mattress in the middle of the studio apartment, dead center, still pure white with its plastic wrapping on, and that’s where he throws Keonhee down with him. From then on, all he remembers is the hot touch of skin on skin, the fire that burns him until he runs out, passes out.

When Seoho wakes up, Keonhee is watching him.

“Feeling better?”

Seoho doesn’t feel like he is equipped to answer, but, “Yeah,” he answers anyway, just because the fire that consumes him the previous night is no longer there, and the darkness that enveloped him had ceased into faded grey, tepid and calm.

“I’m not dealing today,” Keonhee says, “wanna grab breakfast together? You work at 11, right?”

Seoho wants to ask how, because he never told his new address nor his schedule to any of the cartel member, and especially not Keonhee. And yet, “Have you guys been tailing me?”

Keonhee shrugs, “You should be glad it was us and not some other guys,”

Seoho supposes it’s right. How long have Keonhee been following him? How long had they put Kiwook on his trail instead of dealing? Seoho’s head spins, he had never trusted the gang to hold their promises of letting him go, once he decided to come back to town. But this feels too soon, too close. They should have let him forget before trying to recruit him again, if even for a little while.

“I’m tired,” he says, not knowing what he responds to. He doesn’t know how he never noticed before. Is he that used to feeling so complacent, already? “Can we go a little later?”

Keonhee is quiet. Seoho knows that he’d want to talk about it at some point, about Kiwook’s plan, about the cartel, about him. He also knows that this is just stalling, buying time, avoiding it. And Keonhee just sighs, letting him have it, “Suit yourself,”

-

There is only one bar in town, and Wednesday night in that bar is Seoho's favorite time. Once upon a time, it was a game for him, to fish out upper-class people who would buy him a drink or two. Then, somehow, it became a job, to set his eyes on potential high-class customer, whispering words about new products. Right now, this place is just bitter memories and dredged up nostalgia. Honestly, Seoho doesn't expect any good things coming from this place, but he's just a man of habit, and if his body wishes to relive everything, he might as well relive this one, too.

The seats are still the same, just like the linoleum bar, like the black color of the wall that has lost its shine years ago. It still stinks sharply like sweat and faintly like sex, and the alcohol cabinet still looks tilted, like it can topple off at anytime. It’s so achingly familiar that Seoho feels like he has jumped in time. Yet it also feels strange, because he notices how the music trend has changed so much that the bar now is playing EDM instead of slow house mix, that the light finally changes from its ugly yellow to colorful neon. The most glaring difference, however, is the people; because Wednesday night used to be a place for people trapped in limbo, people who don’t really know what to do, where to go, to cross to the other side or not. It’s not a place for laughter, carefree talks, or boisterous voice.

Seoho gulps. Maybe people aren't so lost in Wednesday anymore, after all.

He observes them briefly, the seat with youngsters who must be rich college students with their branded clothes and colorful make up, the booth with chattering women with glittering nails, the group of businessmen with their tie pulled loose, and, to Seoho's surprise, two people in leather jacket, speaking quietly. One of them, he notices, is Yonghoon.

Seoho pretends he doesn't know, but it's clear what they’re doing.

A cover op.

Seoho's blood runs cold. His instinct tells him to run from that place, but his logic tells him to stay and order a drink, because he hasn't done anything wrong, and he doesn’t need to be afraid. Deep down, there's a small voice that screams at him in worry, wondering who is it they're trying to tail, who is it they are investigating. Seoho's heart thumps and thumps as he focuses on his hand, focuses on telling the barista his order.

There's no way that the cartel would be that stupid, right? They never idle in the bar, never long enough to be able to be spotted, not in such a risky place. Seoho had used this place to spread words, but never for transaction, because this place is _too_ open, too bright. Has the cartel changed that much that they're now resorting to this place, out of all place?

To be fair, Yonghoon and the other man could also be on their Wednesday blues, enjoying their drinks just like countless other people—if they're being painfully obvious. They're too tense, too alert, don't even try to converse with each other. They aren't openly staring at someone but they're not looking at each other either. They haven't ordered any snacks, and their glass of gin hasn't decreased or been refilled for at least the thirty minutes it takes for the ice to melt. They’re being so glaringly obvious that Seoho is convinced any sober person in the bar would recognize it. Police officer are too stupid, too predictable.

It's impossible to watch them discreetly without elaborate plan, but Seoho is good at improvisation, has been trained in it to the finest detail.

Seoho strikes a conversation with the barista, start probing around until he can get the barista to tell about his childhood stories of playing in a ricefield and catching eels. Seoho half listens to it as he waits along with the two police officer, trying to pinpoint their target before them. He ends up staying for two hours, mind at high alert all the time, noting no worthy movement. By the time his conversation with the barista lulls, Seoho thanks him and tips, wishing him a good night as he leaves the bar with a pounding heart.

With a last glance, he makes sure that the two police officers are still at their place, still with the same body language. It seems like their target doesn't appear tonight. Seoho hopes so.

Once Seoho is out of the establishment, he checks the street for cars, takes notes of their parking position and plate number. Police officers use cars issued by government, and even though it’s often ordinary civilian car, it's stupidly easy to spot a different colored plate number. Seoho memorizes the number and goes home.

-

"Are you guys being investigated?"

Keonhee isn't dealing again today, it seems. Seoho finds him perched in one of the old building, watching the street below. It's one of their hiding spot, somewhere really hidden in between another two buildings, a perfect blind spot to be able to observe without being observed.

Keonhee doesn't immediately answer him, and it's enough of an answer for Seoho.

"You were tailing me because of this? You want me to play eyes because you can't handle a few stupid dogs?"

"It's not as bad as you think, hyung,"

Seoho slams his fist on the concrete wall, "Then explain why the fuck they were in the bar,"

Keonhee still refuses answering, still refuses to even look at Seoho.

Seoho snorts, "Are you guys dealing in the bar?" Seoho reaches for Keonhee's shoulder, forces his eyes away from the road, "Do you guys forget the manual? Are you guys out of your mind? It's the fucking bar, Lee Keonhee, are you stupid?"

Keonhee shakes himself off, shoving Seoho backwards, "What do you know, hyung? We all fell into shambles _because of you_. What do you expect me to say? That we're better than ever? You know that it's always going to be like this, hyung."

Seoho flinches, not because Keonhee's words hurt him, but because it's true. It has always been like this. It will always be like this. They all know that they have the risk, all along. Just because he tasted a year of life without it, doesn't mean that the others can also live unscathed. Just because he could afford to be selfish, doesn’t mean that everyone gets to do the same.

"Who was it that the dogs smell?"

"What is it to you, hyung?"

"It's you, isn't it?" Seoho grips the concrete a little tighter, "The cartel doesn't know about it. Kiwook tailed me because he wants me to help you personally, isn't it?"

"Would you, hyung?" Keonhee is looking at him now, and his eyes are bloodshot, like how it was when he still used to consume, and Seoho should have been used to it already, because it has always happened for years and years, but it still tears at his heart, how _unwell_ Keonhee looks.

 _You’re his hero, now_ , Kiwook’s words ring in his head, distorted into new meaning.

He wants to save him.

-

In reality, there is not much thing he can do.

Yonghoon is a nice man, from the two times Seoho had met him. He’s the kind of man who would make people comfortable just by being near. Seoho thinks Yonghoon suits more working for humanity instead of armed force, but then again, illegal substances department deals more with kids in juvenile than with firearms, so maybe Yonghoon _is_ working for humanity, after all. But that doesn’t mean that they’re friends. There is no guarantee that they will meet again, or even for Yonghoon to remember. For all he knows, he’s just another number in the contact list. Besides, despite being modestly sized, the town is large enough for the two of them. They can live without ever running into each other.

Expecting Seoho to magically extract information from the older is ridiculous, considering the chances. They only met twice, and one of it was with intervention. It’s sensible to assume that unless Seoho actively stakes him, which he absolutely doesn’t want to, they wouldn’t meet again.

Or so he thinks.

They must have lived on the same neighborhood, because he spots Yonghoon, one night, slumped down on the outdoor minimarket seat. This is second time this week he found the other with a drink in his hand. Only this time, instead of untouched gin, it’s a can of beer, slightly crooked from the way he’s holding it too tightly, doesn’t even realize that it starts to spill.

Seoho wants to ignore him, if only to prove to Kiwook that he wouldn’t fall for his scheme, save himself from the complication. But Yonghoon starts shifting on the table, moving wobbly until the beer topples and falls to the ground. He squints at it, and then reaches down to pick it, but his limbs refuse to listen to him as he slips and almost dives headfirst into the pavement.

"Are you okay?" Seoho grabs him last second, only slightly faking his panic. Kiwook’s _you’re his hero, now,_ bounces in his head over and over, like a neverending echo he can’t escape from.

"Seoho-ssi?" Yonghoon mouths blearily, which Seoho only somewhat recognizes because it’s his own name.

"That's me,"

"Ah," Yonghoon stops trying to reach the can, looking at Seoho instead, "Yeah, I'm okay. Just, drinking, you know," he laughs, then, the kind of drunk laugh that is a little floppy, a little away, “We really should stop meeting like this,”

Seoho takes a seat, doesn't know why he does it instead of just passing by and pretend the street is empty, "Rough night?"

Yonghoon shrugs, or maybe he attempts to, because it looks like he’s just slumping again, making his broad shoulder dead weight on the plastic table, "Rough night... I guess? It's always rough where I work."

"I see," There's genuine concern in Seoho’s voice, but not much. Alcohol doesn’t compare to drugs in messing with someone’s thought, but there’s more record of people dying by alcohol accident than of drug overdose, and maybe it’s a ridiculous worry to have for a man who works for the police force, but Seoho can’t help it. Concern is a human trait, and it’s one shred of humanity Seoho wishes he doesn’t have.

Yonghoon reaches for another can of beer from the plastic bag beside him, and Seoho wants to yank it away before he could open it, but he’s frozen in his seat because it’s not his place, it’s not his business. Yonghoon opens the can and chugs it, and Seoho only stares helplessly as it reminds him of someone else from the past, who downed another substance just as carelessly, who ended up as ashes and bones, scattered in the wind. Seoho presses his thigh, trying hard to mask his discomfort, “Shouldn’t you stop drinking? You look like you’re already pretty drunk,”

Yonghoon ignores him, "Seoho-ssi, what do you think of drugs?"

Seoho's heart skips a beat. He's glad that it's dark, and that Yonghoon looks tipsy enough that he probably wouldn't notice the tell that Seoho has, the way even the word drugs make him flinch just the littlest bit. He squints his eyes, and pretends to frown, "That's bad, surely,"

"It is, isn't it," Yonghoon says, "But then again those people... sometimes they just want to stop feeling pain. Sometimes they just... don't want to be hurt anymore. But even then, they're the criminal, without any hopes of returning to the society, facing the worst withdrawal tenfold of their own pain, sometimes to the point of death. And here, we just... say that it's bad, that they're weak. Is it so wrong, after all, to seek comfort in the only way they know how? They are already trying their best."

Seoho gulps, focusing on the can of beer in Yonghoon’s fingers instead of his eyes, "Drugs are never the answer," his tone gets colder by the end of the sentence, and he hopes Yonghoon just thinks that it's an uncomfortable topic to talk about and move on. As much as Seoho hates small talk, he wishes they could just talk about the weather instead, "We should be able to help them in a way that won't cause them more pain,"

"More pain, huh," Yonghoon says. The can of beer in his hand tilts on his loose grip and spills to the table, but Yonghoon makes no move to straighten it, "Who are we to decide what gives them pain?"

"That's enough, Yonghoon-ssi," Seoho gets up, taking the can of beer, "I think it's time for you to go home,"

Yonghoon grabs Seoho's hand in such a precise movement that Seoho flinches, still half-holding the beer, "I'm not drunk, you know," and this time Yonghoon's voice sounds so sober, so clear, and Seoho's blood runs cold.

Has he been falling to a trap? Did he know? Was he spotted, that night at the bar, those nights he met secretly with Keonhee or Kiwook?

Seoho huffs, pries his hand away and continues taking the can away, piling it with the other cans before throwing them into the recyclables, "Then look like it, Yonghoon-ssi."

"Hyung,"

"Huh?"

"I think we're close enough for you to call me hyung," Yonghoon smiles, now, and his eyes are clear, nothing like the earlier cloudy stuff when he was troubled and tipsy, and Seoho feels like being pierced by a thousand glass shards, "We drank together, after all,"

"I didn't drink though,"

"Then, next time?"

Seoho feels his blood flows, his heart beats. They never call or text each other after that one first time of Yonghoon confirming that it was indeed Seoho's number. Seoho had hoped that he wouldn’t need to use that number for whatever reason, but here it is, an invitation, an open one that he _still_ can refuse. He can still get out of this. He can still let himself be ignorant. He can leave Yonghoon out of this. But Keonhee’s bloodshot eyes flashes in his mind, and he smiles back, "Next time,"

-

To: Yonghoon the Police Officer  
_hyung  
can I borrow a washing machine? _

From: Yonghoon the Police Officer  
_Sure  
<Location sent>  
I'm free on Saturday_

Seoho stares at the reply, wonders why is it so easy. There's still a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that it's a trap, that Yonghoon already knows, that he's being duped. But, again, he hasn't done anything, he doesn't know anything. He always makes sure that Keonhee leaves the important details every time they meet. Seoho hasn’t promised Keonhee that he would help him, but he knows he’s set on it the moment Keonhee refused to take off his shirt when they fucked. It’s easy to tell that he was hiding a bruise of a declining sales, because the collectors always hit on the same spot, and it hasn’t changed in years.

Seoho is being careful. Even if it's a trap, they wouldn't get anything. It’ll be alright.

It's a little thrilling to enter a police officer’s house, but Yonghoon's apartment is comically ordinary. There’s no stack of case files, no corkboard filled with red thread and photos of clues, no empty can of beer scattered around the house. (He does see clutters of empty takeout boxes and plastic coffee cups.) Maybe the movies have been exaggerating what police officer life is supposed to be, maybe not all of them are obsessed with solving cases, or maybe illegal substances are just not about clues hiding between photos of crime scene.

"The machine's in the back," Yonghoon says, leading Seoho further inside, "I'm sorry I didn’t manage to tidy up everything, but it should be fairly clean back there."

"It's okay, I'm sorry to intrude," Seoho finds the washing machine easily, and starts to unload his laundry, because at least this part of the story needs to be true. "I just moved not long before I saw you, so I don't have any friend here. I'm so glad I met you,"

"Really? Then don't hesitate to call me! I won't be able to help every time but I'll do what I can. Speaking of, want lunch?"

Seoho looks at Yonghoon, who is standing with expectant eyes and a smile, two rooms over, thinking if Yonghoon has always been like this, so open and welcoming, offering everything he has to anyone he meets. There's a distrust in Seoho's mind, but to doubt Yonghoon's intention would mean that he'd admit his own charges, and so Seoho smiles, "Sure! Then let me help you clean?"

Yonghoon seems like he wants to protest, but then he glances at the mess in the apartment and shrugs, "Fair enough,"

Seoho doesn't understand it at all, because letting him clean would also mean letting him have access to prod his way through Yonghoon's apartment, and that's more trust than he can handle. But he's here on a mission, and if this is all a trap, he will have a lie ready. He'll get out of this with something, like he always do.

But there's embarrassingly nothing, even when Seoho had discreetly peered under places he didn’t have any business in. He stuck his hand to the back of the bookshelves, touched the wooden framed picture, opened the shelves, with an excuse at the ready, empty apologizes with practiced sheepish smile, and maybe a chance to gauge what lies behind. But there's none of it, Yonghoon just lets him putter around without so much as a glance, concentrating on his cooking, alternating between humming and chatting. It's a little terrifying, how the man doesn't have anything to hide or fear, how easy he is to trust others. Shouldn’t a police officer be more careful of people who want to befriend them just to use them, of liars like him?

But it isn't exactly a lie, is it?

Seoho does want to be Yonghoon's friend. There's a magnetic charm in the way the man smiles and shakes his head to put his fringes out of his eyes that mesmerizes Seoho from the first time they met. If it was all just a lie, it shouldn't be this easy to talk to him, to fall into his smile, and his pleasant laugh, boisterous but warm, savory. Wouldn’t it be for Seoho's own interest, right now, that he laughs along with Yonghoon's pun, enjoys the way he sings a bit of pop songs they remember from childhood?

Would it still be a lie, if he himself believes it?

"It's surprisingly delicious," Seoho comments, twirling the spaghetti in his fork.

"Hey, what do you mean by that, I'm a great cook."

Seoho laughs, "Yeah, but the way you struggled with the knife earlier made me think you never went to kitchen before,"

"Don't judge a book by its cover, Seoho-yah,"

And it makes Seoho shiver, because the sentence is weirdly ominous. It could mean many things, and Seoho's mind went into full panic for a short moment, that Yonghoon knew, somehow, what Seoho thought of him, what he was really trying to pursue. But Seoho hides it well, under the pretense of years of lying, and then he smiles, without missing a beat, "Knife skill to cooking skill is more like a synopsis to a book than its cover, but okay,"

"Synopsis is part of the cover!"

Yonghoon, more than Seoho expected, is fun. He jokes well, he laughs, and he's kind. It's easy to laugh with him, throwing well intentioned jabs because none of them are actually fan of books, especially those who don't have anything to do with their profession, but more specifically those that has to do with their profession.

"What do you work as, anyway," Yonghoon asks in the middle of a laugh, and it’s finally a question Seoho had prepared for, had practiced the answer thousands of times in his head.

"Computer and electronic repair," Comes the half truth, but, considering the context of what they're talking, there really isn't a book that can help him to deal drugs effectively, so he's not lying, not technically, "It's a little across the street where I live,"

“Oh, does that mean you’re good with computers?”

“Not necessarily to the point that I’m super good in it, but yes.”

“Can I stop by your store sometimes? I’m always having a hard time with it, for some reason,”

Seoho feels like this is a start of a trap, still can’t shake his feeling of paranoia and distrust. But there really is only one answer to this, so he swallows his spaghetti and says, “Sure, it’ll be my pleasure,”

-

There’s a hickey blooming on Keonhee’s hip, very near to his navel. It’s not Seoho’s, because he never makes one below collarbones, always prefer the soft and easily accessed skin near the neck. And it’s pretty new, the color just shy of becoming a little yellow. It’s ridiculous to think that Keonhee would not fuck anyone else once he’s back, because even before, they were never exclusive. But back then, it was never a problem. They’d fuck around here and there, as the only thing they can do, if they don’t want to resort to consuming questionable substance.

So, no, it’s not jealousy Seoho feels.

It’s just a sense of bittersweet nostalgia, of things that seems so familiar yet so different. He used to be Keonhee’s best fuck, to the point that they seek each other almost instinctively. He wonders if Keonhee has him replaced, wonders who is it that makes Keonhee allow them to leave mark.

“It’s Kiwook’s,” Keonhee says, looking at him. Seoho realizes he had been tracing his thumb over the mark for the last few minutes, and Keonhee knows him just too well.

“I see,” It shouldn’t come as a surprise for him because after all, Kiwook is Keonhee’s current partner, there’s every reason that they’d fuck too. Except that Seoho still feels bile in his mouth whenever he remembers Kiwook, remembers his smirk and taunting words, remembers the blood on his lips. He knows that Kiwook is just trying to look out for himself, _and for Keonhee_ , but it’s still unwise, they could have gotten into much more danger, and if they play it wrong, he could be caught in this. Seeing that it’s Kiwook replaces him stirs his mind with all sorts of unpleasant thoughts, “He must be good.”

Keonhee chuckles, and drops his head on the pillow, “Jealous?”

Seoho presses the mark, making Keonhee flinch at the suddenness, “No,”

That night, Seoho eventually told Keonhee about his little recon mission, about how pointless it is to make him spy into Yonghoon’s life, because the guy is just too clean, because despite being bad at cover op, Yonghoon is apparently good at keeping his secrets. But not before Seoho fucked Keonhee slow on his mattress, covering every bit of Kiwook’s touch with his own, making sure that Keonhee lost all thought except to scream Seoho’s name over and over.

-

Seoho is a man of habit. He does the same wake up routine for years, never changes his clothing preference, washes his body in the exact sequence he did as a kid. Habit is a hard thing to let go, and for Seoho it’s even harder.

He’s been trying. Because this is something that he wanted, because he was the one who wanted to start a new life that doesn’t involve heroine mix stuck under his fingernails, or spare sample pills ready in the seams of his clothes, or being able to spot a recon ten meters away and running at the mere echo of a siren. He wants to break those habits. He buys new clothes, which are still mostly long sleeve sweaters and short pants, but no longer with secret pockets. He cleans thoroughly and trims his nail. And then, he befriends a police officer.

Yonghoon makes it easy, because he’s always the one who reach out first, who asks Seoho for a night out drinking or just a short lunch break. Somehow, it’s not weird, because Yonghoon doesn’t look like someone with authority, doesn’t flaunt the fact that he’s on the side of the law. It makes Seoho forget, sometimes, when he laughs as Yonghoon steals egg yolk from his soup, when they challenge each other about who would burp first after drinking soda. Somehow, Yonghoon enters himself seamlessly in Seoho’s life, and he treasures it, because for once he has a friend who doesn’t talk about exact ratios or escape routes. It’s only once or twice, when he sometimes accidentally bumps with Yonghoon and hears a clink, realizing it’s a metal handcuff instead of keychain, or when Yonghoon comes to lunch with walkie talkie attached to his chest, that Seoho remembers just how ironic their friendship is.

“Don’t you have someone else you can invite to lunch with?” Seoho asks, busying himself with a spoonful of his tofu stew, pretending he doesn’t watch every twitch in Yonghoon’s face.

Yonghoon smiles with his mouth full, and he chews a bit more before answering, “I do, it’s just,” he reaches for his glass of lemonade, sips from it a hearty amount before continuing, “My partners at the precinct are too serious. Geonhak, especially. I know he’s the best prodigy in the squad and everything, but I swear he needs to be less tense if he wants to stay sane.”

Seoho’s ear perks at the name drop, _Geonhak, a prodigy_ , he notes it in his mind, then, outwardly, chuckles at Yonghoon, “You’re hardly sane yourself,”

“Hey!”

“Maybe you’re the one who is too playful, hyung,” Seoho quips, an intended bait.

As expected, Yonghoon takes it, eyebrows furrowing as his expression turns a little bit somber, “I’m serious. We can’t afford it otherwise. It’s just, I need to be okay to continue looking at their dead eyes, and spending time with someone who doesn’t remind me of the smell of cocaine helps, a lot.”

“Someone like me?” Seoho smiles, warm, fond, understanding.

“Yeah,” Seoho is perceptive, and he is trained exceptionally well to detect lies, to smell mere pleasantries, to sniff out fakeness. So it’s staggering, how genuine Yonghoon is being, how sincere his eyes are, “Someone like you.”

_Oh, if only he knows._

-

It’s the first time Seoho tries to contact Kiwook first, after the last time he punched his face.

There’s a code for them, an indication of a request, to let each other know about wanting a rendezvous without being tracked. The one Seoho is about to do is most likely obsolete, because as far as he knows they change it up every few months or so. But that’s better, Seoho thinks, because he wants to meet Kiwook, specifically. The kid is smart so he probably remember most of the code they ever used, something that the others won’t be able to pick up. Seoho drops a coin on the crossroad, sticks a gum to the wall just a little above the dumpster behind the family restaurant, then kicks the pipe protruding over the apartment right beside it, and then goes to a McDonalds two blocks away. He orders a medium fries and a cola, then sits at the corner near the toilet, and waits.

Usually, it takes half a day at best, or a few days at most, but with Kiwook, right now, he doesn’t think he needs to wait that long. Sure enough, the younger boy enters from the backdoor when Seoho is halfway through his glass of cola, pretending not to notice. Kiwook sits across him, and picks the remaining fries on the tray, faking easiness and leisure as he puts it in his mouth.

“So you’re still tailing me,” Seoho tries to sound neutral. It just comes out cold.

“You’re the one who requested to meet.”

The bruise on his mouth already healed, but there’s another cut on his chin, and a swell on his forehead that he tried to hide with his fringe. A lot of times, it’s inevitable, these kind of injuries, especially on a snatcher like Kiwook. But it’s been quite a long time since the last time Seoho truly sees him under a bright light that doesn’t cast eerie shadows on his face. Kiwook is haggard, sharp in many places, coarse, taut, and most of all, dirty. Seoho doesn’t know if he used to be like that, back then, or if it’s worse now, after he left.

“Geonhak,” Seoho says, slowly, in between sips of cola, “It’s the only name he said. Probably a better lead than him.”

Kiwook twirls a piece of fries in his fingers, pretending to not be interested, “So you decided to stay on this side, after all?”

Seoho grits his teeth, crushing the straw between it, “I’m not doing this for you.”

Kiwook huffs, “I know,” he eats the fries, and Seoho knows that he’s trying to hide the shake in his hands, or the hunger in his stomach. There was a time when the only thing stopping them from hunger was stealing from fast food stocks right before it closed. They used to run together, plot together, and most importantly, steal together. Despite being in different teams, they worked well, because Kiwook was fast but Seoho was craftier, and it was not long before they learned to admire each other, building a kind of twisted but easy rivalry. As much as they competed, they took care of each other the way no other kids could. They were strong and solid, coated in a kind of confidence only they could pull through.

Right now, Kiwook looks like he hasn’t eaten in days, and probably hasn’t showered in even longer. There’s a trace of caked blood near his sleeve, and Seoho doesn’t want to know what it means.

But there’s also a blooming bruise of a hickey, right above his collar, and Seoho feels his stomach twists once again, remembering the similar mark on Keonhee’s navel.

“The camera above the fridge is off,” Seoho says, before pushing his half eaten fries forward, putting bills on the table, and stands, “Leave ten minutes after me.”

-

Seoho forgets about it, for the most part, or tries to, at least, because it’s not like it has something to do with him anymore. He tells Keonhee to stop visiting. He works, does his chores, finally puts proper bedsheet and unpacks his boxes, prints digimon posters to decorate his empty walls. He’s thinking of buying a wall clock, but decides that he can always take one of the broken digital desk clock from his work place. There’s no TV, but he has his laptop, and stacks of comic books to create a makeshift table. He’s doing well, all in all, way better than he used to, at the street, or even when he was hiding, pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

But that doesn’t stop him from being hyper-aware of Yonghoon, of the feeling of guilt that chases him to his sleep.

When he first ran away, Youngjo was the one who told him to. He didn’t have the authority, but he had the money, and Harin had the knowledge, and so they smuggled him away, turning him from Gunmin to Seoho, convinced him to lay low for a year or so, until Dongju can sweep all his traces. Now he legally doesn’t have anything to do with them anymore, not with the drugs nor the corpses. He’s innocent, in all sense of the law. But human heart is different, and it eats him alive how he’s the only one getting out unscathed, while Keonhee and Kiwook suffered and still suffer because of him. It was necessary, at first, or that’s what he willed himself to believe, but now he wondered if what he did was the right thing.

Seoho stares at the numbers in his bank account, reciting Dongju’s phone number in his head. He knows he can just go to Dongmyeong’s law firm if he forgets, but he’d rather the lawyer not get involved, if he can help it. The twins are their go-to bridge between one side and the other, with Dongmyeong acting as a legal defendant and Dongju as the information broker and forger. They were the ones who made Seoho’s escape possible.

He remembers his last meeting with Dongju, and wonders what Dongju would say if he knows that Seoho risks his hardwork by toeing on the line like this.

Seoho sighs. He should prepare thrice the amount he paid last time, and he doesn’t know how to obtain it without resorting to crime. He’s staring at his phone, contemplating if it’s alright to call Youngjo, when his phone vibrates, Yonghoon’s number appearing at the notification.

From: Yonghoon The Police officer  
_Dinner?_

It’s ironic, really, and Seoho thinks he has the worst luck, down to the timing, but he swallows the thought, swallows the feeling, and replies.

To: Yonghoon The Police officer  
_Sure_

“I’m beat,”

Seoho knows, even before Yonghoon slumps almost into his bowl of rice. They’re eating pork belly for once, because Yonghoon feels like he needs to treat himself the slightly more expensive dinner. Seoho followed along after Yonghoon grabbed his shoulder, exclaiming he’d be treating tonight. There’s a heaviness even in his cheers, in the way that his speech drawls more than its usual stutters.

“Work?”

Yonghoon pouts, “It’s always work, with me,”

Seoho hums, trying to be as casual as possible as he flips the meat, cutting it into a few pieces, “It must be tough, working there,”

“It’s the worst, really,”

Seoho chuckles, “But you’re still there, right?”

Yonghoon doesn’t answer for a long time, and Seoho thinks that he’s asleep on his desk, but his eyes are open, staring emptily into the fire.

“Hey,” Seoho snaps the tongs on Yonghoon’s face, “You okay there?”

“Ah, yeah, I’m alright,” Unconvincing.

Seoho pushes a plate of radish to him, “Eat,”

“Just radish?” Yonghoon chuckles, finally.

“The meat’s not cooked yet,”

“Then just concentrate on cooking it, you brat,”

Seoho laughs, but he’s complies, making sure everything is not undercooked or burnt, because a treat like this is a luxury he doesn’t experience often.

“Maybe you should take a leave, if you’re this exhausted.” It was a planned offhand remark, low risk low gain bait, but it’s worth a shot. A police officer should and would never disclose their work outside of the office, but the question is ambiguous enough to be safe, yet telling enough to be informative.

And, as expected, Yonghoon falls for it, “I can’t,” he says, “Especially not now.”

“Big mission?”

Yonghoon smiles, taking his chopsticks, “Something like that,”

Alarm blares on Seoho’s head. It’s been a few weeks since he last seen Kiwook, since the last time he told him to tail a certain prodigy. He hasn’t tried to contact them yet, has been trying not to. He doesn’t want to worry, convinces himself that he’s not worrying, but here he is, frantically trying to envision future possibilities he can’t be part of. He knows that Yonghoon’s mission can be anything, anyone. It doesn’t have to be him, it doesn’t have to be them. But Seoho has learned that he often has the worst luck, and sometimes, everything that can go wrong _will_ go wrong.

Seoho brews a plan in his head, something quick, something with high success probability.

He takes account of the position of items on the table, paying attention on Yonghoon’s phone. Under the pretense of plating, he makes the space around it cluttered and messy, so that when he reaches, “Can I get a few more garlic—“ the knock of his hand to the glass of ice water is natural, as well as the way Yonghoon’s phone got splashed, “Oh shit!”

He frantically tries to find tissue, pretends to hit the bowl of sauce in his panic, splashing the phone even more. He swears for a solid three seconds, pretending that he can’t find the tissue despite knowing for sure where it is, then looks at Yonghoon who’s at equal loss of words, contemplating to wipe it with his sleeve.

Seoho grabs the tissue, “Here, let me,” He puts off the black phonecase, watches as a credit card falls down, and manages to grab it before it gets grilled. He tissues it along with the phone, but, discreetly, he presses the phone’s lock button until it turns off before giving it back to Yonghoon, “I’m so sorry.”

Yonghoon, predictably, checks it right away, and finds that it can’t turn on upon usual unlocking method, blanches, “Oh no,”

From then on, it’s easy. Usually, Seoho dislikes people who are bad at technology, because it annoys him, how something so simple and so explicitly obvious often escapes them. But along with time and experience, he realized that being technologically challenged makes them the easiest target.

He convinced Yonghoon that he, a tech person, can fix his phone, with the tools he has at home, that they can go to after dinner. (“Is it okay to wait that long?” “It’s okay, if the water gets inside we have to let it dry first anyway.” “Okay then.”) He looks at Yonghoon’s face, looking for any hints of uneasiness or anxiety, and finds none. That means, at least he has time.

Once Seoho has his hands on his laptop, it’s hilariously easy for him, to copy Yonghoon’s entire data on his laptop, under the pretense of checking a system that doesn’t exist. He contemplates planting a malware inside, but decides against it after examining the phone. Judging by the model and the contents, he can tell that the phone’s never been cleaned, messy with unnecessary cache and duplicate data. His spying app would slow the performance quite significantly, and he can’t have Yonghoon trying to ask the office’s technician, or something. What he gets for now should be enough.

When it’s already a reasonable time after Yonghoon left, he examines his house. He’s quite confident that Yonghoon doesn’t know, wouldn’t manage to install any bugs even if he did, but it never hurts to check. One year isn’t nearly enough for Seoho to forget his meticulous survival instinct.

Owning minimal furniture means less place to plant a bug, and that’s the exact reason Seoho never tried to shop for more. That, and the feeling of wanting to be able to leave with just a backpack whenever the situation calls for it. He tries to convince himself that he won’t need to face that kind of situation anymore, but it feels like an empty promise, even for him, as the need to run and protect himself keep rising and rising. He sweeps every inch of his place, and doesn’t find anything. No bugs, no listening device, no secret camera. Small blessing.

Yonghoon being bad at technology wasn’t a lie, because there is almost no security measure in his phone that it almost feels like a trap. Seoho sorts through everything, finding mostly photos of flowers and grocery lists, sometimes a recipe. The office tech guy, if there is, probably told him to secure his phone data, and since Yonghoon doesn’t know how to use it, he probably put most of it offline. Seoho thought that that would be it, until he looks at the calendar.

 _Trial,_ the date he found Yonghoon drunk. _SW rehab celebration,_ the day they spent the night singing countless trot songs in _noraebang. Meeting_ , spread out throughout the month. _Pick up GH_ , the date he spotted them on the bar. And—

 _Last meeting,_ with photo of the base’s area attached, dated today.

Seoho runs.

_How many hours has it been since dinner with Yonghoon?_

Abandoned building, old apartments, creaky emergency ladder, rusty neon signs—Seoho checks every place that could possibly hold Kiwook and felt panic rising more and more as he fails to find him. Praying to a god that he doesn’t believe, Seoho hopes Kiwook is done tailing Geonhak, and runs straight to the base.

Taking several roundabout ways, he enters a pawnshop and exits via the backdoor, trying to be as fast as possible while still being extremely careful because he knows the cost of being hasty and emotional. He was the one who invented this method, back then, drawing crude blueprints with Kiwook, surveying which store would care and which would not. The route of rendezvous, of coming back to the base, of escaping, of shaking off possible tails. He hopes that it still works, that it’s not all in vain.

It’s almost four in the morning, and Seoho feels lightheaded, but he forces his mind to stay sharp, forcing the pounding in his ears to quiet down so he can _hear_.

When he arrives, it’s almost all too late.

One thing he’s grateful about is that police officer has never been subtle. It’s probably against their code of conduct or something, to raid a place without proper announcement, even if it could probably give the target a chance to escape. However, by this point, he also knows that they’re outnumbered at least three to one, if the tons of police car is enough of an indication. He hears the click of cocked gun, hears the clink of handcuffs, the buzz and hustle of footsteps. He’s too afraid to make sure if Yonghoon is there.

In one deft move, he slips through the buildings.

The base is comprised of many complex movable components from some rooms and basements of abandoned buildings. They change the combination regularly to avoid this exact scene, being trapped with no way to escape. But there is one place that they can’t move, no matter what. The kitchen, as they call it, the place where they store, mix, and produce drugs.

As someone who mainly focuses on selling, he never really gets into the kitchen often. Harin usually handles the mixing, with Youngjo and Hwanwoong managing the packaging and storing. But everyone in their little circle has to earn their keep, so he knows where it is. He expertly flaps a few hidden doors, carefully placing and replacing stray blocks of wood to get into the one hidden door that lead there.

Inside, he saw nothing. The place is clean, no trace of any substance, not even a flick of powder.

“Shit,”

 _Did Youngjo knew?_ He can’t believe it. They don’t have an eye inside of the force, it’s impossible that they know in advance. _Did they move kitchen when he left?_ Most likely, but _where is it?_

Seoho tries to calm his thought, inspects the dusty table that no longer holds weight-measuring tools.

The police wouldn’t hold a raid of this scale without some kind of definite proof, without a guarantee that they’d at least capture someone. _How did they knew?_

Just to be sure, Seoho circles the base, tossing and turning and peering over every hiding place, making sure nobody is inside. Just as he’s about to reach the sleeping quarter, he hears the crackling sound of handheld loud speaker.

“This place is under siege. We ask your cooperation to surrender immediately. We repeat, this place is under siege. We ask your cooperation to surrender immediately.”

The loudspeaker makes the voice sounds static and tinny, but Seoho feels a sliver of relief that it’s not Yonghoon’s voice. It does not mean Yonghoon is not present in the raiding squad, but, knowing that he’s not directly facing Yonghoon helps him calm down, somewhat.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, before he starts to hear footsteps… moving further away.

His mind races again. _Fuck_. The point of the raid isn’t here. Seoho’s information is outdated.

Seoho runs again, a little more blindly because this time he doesn’t have the information, doesn’t know where to go. All he knows is that his folks are still there, probably trapped under some of the building, not knowing whether they have to go out and face the cops or risking their lives on an escape. He trips over blocks of woods and scrap metals, gaining bruises and cuts, but he barrels through. He can already hear the bangs of opened door, the shout of _all clear_ echoing faintly all around the complicated basement. He tries to concentrate on it, desperately trying to recall the big picture of the basement layout, predicting where the cops are trying to go. He hears shuffling and a gunshot, and he stops dead in his track, in the middle of one of the makeshift tunnel, holding his breathe.

_Please, God, at least not Keonhee._

From then on, it’s like playing hide and seek, slipping in and out of tunnels, getting up and down the basement. There are a lot of hiding places that he can think of, that he’s confident the police squad will overlook, but hiding means no vantage point, and he still needs to find Keonhee. So he relies on his quick steps, heartbeat getting faster and faster as he circles the place to find Keonhee.

The police squad moves way slower, but once they close in, the access to escape will be cut off. It won’t be long before they can smoke out the entire gang, at this point.

Just as he’s on the verge giving up, something grabs his wrist, and he’s pulled into a room, stumbling into dusty old sofa. A hand covers his mouth, then he hears, outside, the sound of boots walking through the place he just stood.

After a few seconds that feels like hours, the place quiets down. He turns around to find that it’s Keonhee holding him, his face full of worry.

"Hyung, your face—"

Seoho tastes copper. He touches his lips and his fingers come out wet. He looks at it gingerly, using his quiet three seconds to assess the rest of his body. He's bruised in a lot of places, and it looks like he sprained something in his left arm. Nothing serious, nothing permanent.

"It's just pain. It will pass."

His body still runs full force with adrenaline. He doesn’t feel the pain, not yet.

Keonhee looks at Seoho with eyes that spell guilt, but Seoho doesn't have the time to reassure him.

“Where are the others?” Seoho whispers, stern.

“I don’t know. I just—I just came back and—“

Seoho closes his eyes and exhales, “It’s not important. Come on, we need to go.”

The raid isn't even close to finish. The gang has Youngjo, they might already be safe with the escape plan. They are the ones that need to run.

"Come on," Seoho drags him into gaps between buildings, away from the point of the raid.

"Wait," Keonhee stops in an alcove, then looks around before speaking urgently, "Kiwook, he—"

 _Fuck_.

"He's fast, he'd be able to run on his own, right?"

One look at Keonhee's eyes tells Seoho that he wouldn’t like the answer, “He’s captured.”

“What?!”

“It’s—it’s probably been almost a week, at this point. He never came back. I kept trying to contact him but I never could. I think… I think the cop got to him. I couldn’t go to your place because I was afraid they’d tail me into you. I was looking for him and suddenly the base is…”

Seoho remembers the last time he met Kiwook, the last thing he told him. _Geonhak, a prodigy_. He was sure Kiwook would just be on the lookout, didn’t expect him to be caught like this. Did he just lead Kiwook into a trap?

“Fuck,” Seoho is torn. He doesn’t want to leave Kiwook, but if he’s in a custody, there’s practically nothing he could have done. Except…

Seoho grabs Keonhee’s hand, leading him upstairs an empty building, a bit far away from the commotion. “If they knew the place this exactly, it’s possibly because they have Kiwook with him.”

“Kiwook wouldn’t rat us out.” Keonhee speaks trough gritted teeth, but Seoho knows from his tone that he doesn’t really believe it. Seoho doesn’t say anything as they get near a window, a vantage point where they can more or less see the tail of the police cars.

The blue and white police officer cars create messy line, blocking the exit to the neighborhood. All the siren lights are on despite not making any noise, like a silent festival of doom.

Seoho looks carefully, making sure he’s still hidden. There are not many officers near the cars now, only a few standing around with walkie talkie in their hands. There’s one person that stays close to a black car, a little bit behind the other cars. He doesn’t leave the place, even when the other officers start to file out, like he’s deliberately left there. It’s too far to make sure, but Seoho recognizes the car, and most importantly, he recognizes the person.

The person who he spotted at the bar, who went on cover op with Yonghoon. _My partner, Geonhak, the prodigy_.

“There,” Seoho points at him with his glances, “I think Kiwook’s there.”

Keonhee looks, and nods. Seoho can feel the fear in his body, but they need to rescue him, and fast.

The plan is simple. The police officer (Geonhak?) seems to be alone in at least one hundred meter radius, and they would have more or less one minute to try and free Kiwook from the car, once they distract Geonhak. Keonhee would set off the self-destruct-decoy, lighting up a few molotovs hidden in the crevices of the buildings, leading the forces away from them. And Seoho will directly throw one molotov near where Geonhak stands, forcing him to leave his post of guarding Kiwook. Then, Keonhee can get to Kiwook, and escape together. It’s not foolproof, the risk of failure is impossibly high, but a small percentage of success is better than no hope. They don’t have time to think of a more sophisticated plan.

Seoho grips his bottle of molotov, letting the sharp smell of oil stings his nose. Once the first explosion sets off, he’d wait fifteen seconds before throwing the bottle to the designated dumpster, setting fire to the carefully piling up fabric waste and bottles of half-empty alcohol. He knows they’ll probably cause a house fire, with the amount of old wood in and around the building, but at this point, he doesn’t care.

The first explosion sounds, and, as expected, Geonhak perks up, but doesn’t leave his place. From his hiding place, he can hear panicked shouts, _back off, back off, hold your fire_ , but Seoho hears gunshots anyways. He wonders what they might shoot at, because he knows they won’t get Keonhee. The thing he set off was a mechanism Seoho built with Kiwook, once upon a time, to trap whoever wanting to chase them inside. Harin used to tease them that it made them look like mafia instead of a small gang of drug dealers, but Hwanwoong praised them for the design. Years later, it finally finds its use.

Seoho throws the molotov, and the dumpster explodes.

The fire is bigger than he thought. _Good_.

Geonhak looks conflicted in his place, but he stays calm as he speaks to his walkie talkie, “Fire behind the building, suspected attack, requesting back up. Repeat, requesting back up.”

There is no response, and Geonhak brings out his phone, pressing something quickly then dialing, eyes alert to his surrounding, “There’s a fire on point 4900, requesting assistance immediately.”

Seoho grits his teeth, he can’t have Geonhak waiting there until help arrives. He doesn’t have much time.

There’s no mechanism near where Geonhak parks his car, but it’s a complex of abandoned building with lots of abandoned things. Seoho can improvise.

Taking a deep breathe, Seoho prepares himself as he throws a big chunk of wood to Geonhak’s car, shouting as loud as he can, “Hey!”

The wood flies off and hit the bumper of the car, and Geonhak spots him, “You!”

Seoho runs.

“Wait! Freeze!”

Seoho doesn’t know why police officer always tells their target to wait. It’s not like a real criminal will listen to them. He throws barrels and old chairs, going in the opposite side of the raid point, avoiding being surrounded even in his haste. He’s exhausted, he hasn’t gotten a lick of sleep, he’s hungry, he’s injured, and the sun is rising. He desperately wants to quickly outrun Geonhak, to just jump into a hiding place, but he has to buy as much time as possible for Keonhee and Kiwook.

He runs deliberately slower than he could, making sure Geonhak is following him.

“Surrender yourself! This place is under siege!”

Is that also a police officer’s hobby, to state the obvious, aside than asking the unreasonable? Seoho keeps running, expertly slipping in and out of alleys. He keeps running until he recognizes the end of the complex, the road leading to the center of the town. He takes a sharp turn and hides behind a broken platform. Trying to regain his breath, he listens.

Geonhak’s footsteps are obvious, and he can hear the skid of boots, can hear the doubt as the steps slow at the intersection. When he finally made his mind and went one way, Seoho exhales quietly, then counts to sixty before stepping out, praying that Keonhee has done his part. He prays a lot more today than in all his life put together. Maybe after this all ends, he can just be a priest, or a monk. Wouldn’t it be fucking funny.

Seoho makes his way back to the complex, to the agreed upon meeting place where Keonhee would bring Kiwook before running away.

_“If I don’t appear in five minutes, run away without me,”_

_“But, hyung,”_

_“I’ll be okay. Promise me you’ll run, and take care of each other.” There’s hesitation in Seoho’s voice before he continues, “If you’re in a pinch, call Dongju. Tell him I told you to.”_

_Keonhee’s eyes are glassy, but he nods, understanding, “Be careful, hyung.”_

“Freeze.”

Seoho stops in his track, his heartbeat running rampant. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ There shouldn’t be anyone else chasing him, he didn’t think about the possibility of a second person. He raises his arm, then slowly turns around,

to find Yonghoon standing there, a gun pointed at him.

Something clicks in Yonghoon's eyes as he recognizes him, and he cocks his gun a little straighter, "Seoho? Why are you..."

"Hello, hyung." Seoho's heart is beating so fast, one little slip and there will be a bullet on his chest, he will cough blood slowly until he dies. "Fancy seeing you here."

"How... why are you here?"

"My older sister lives here. I was visiting, and there was a commotion and she told me to check if her dog isn't caught up in it. After all, wouldn't want an adorable maltese to—"

"Seoho, please," Yonghoon steps closer, and Seoho doesn't know what he's so wary of, when he's the one with complete gear and firearm, "I’m not joking."

Seoho hums, not moving, "Do you think I'm joking? You're the one who points a gun to a civilian."

Yonghoon is taken aback, but then steels, "You're not a civilian. You're..." He reels in all the memories, all the blurs of Seoho’s action the past few months, "...you're accomplice."

In the back of his mind, Seoho applauds Yonghoon for coming to the conclusion so fast, but then again he won't be a team leader if he can't do at least that. In the front, though, Seoho pretends to be hurt, "Is being in a wrong place in a wrong time a crime too, now?"

Yonghoon grits his teeth, "Then why are you raising your arms, if you're so innocent?"

"I thought raising my arms means police officer will protect me. Did the movies get it all wrong?"

“Don’t twist the condition, Seoho.”

“I’m not.” Seoho sharpens his eyes, seeing the beginning of doubt in Yonghoon’s face. It’s funny, how he’s able to discern Yonghoon’s expression so well, now. “I thought we’re friends, Yonghoon. Don’t you trust your friends?”

Yonghoon doesn’t answer, but he steps closer, hands still gripping the gun, full alert.

“I had hoped that befriending a cop would make me feel safer, but it turns out I’m in more danger than I have ever been.”

“Seoho, I need you to come with me. We’ll resolve this in the station.”

Seoho looks at him, mustering his most pitiful gaze, his weakest, most vulnerable voice, “You’re going to arrest me?”

“Please, Seoho, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re already hurting me, hyung.” And finally, finally it works. Seoho sees it, the apparent doubt, the falter in Yonghoon’s hands as he uttered the word hyung, and Seoho takes it, takes the split second chance because it’s as best as he gets.

He runs, this time faster than ever before.

“Seoho!”

He jumps over a fence, scraping his leg in the process. Great, another injury to take care of. He shoulders on, but he doesn’t get very far.

It happens in a flash. He was running to a building at one moment, and then in the next moment there’s a gunshot, and he feels the kind of white hot pain that he can’t ignore. His eyes blur as he loses his momentum and stumbles all the way to a wall, hitting his head in the process.

Before the world turns dark, he hears Yonghoon’s voice, calling his name.

-

When he opens his eyes, Seoho realizes he’s not dead. His whole body hurt, but he recognizes the white and green color around him as a hospital, even though he doesn’t know which. All hospitals look the same.

He tries to lift his hand, but then realizes that it is handcuffed to the bed railing.

Seoho huffs a laugh, _his life is a fucking joke._

He decides to sleep it off.

When he wakes up again, Yonghoon is on his bedside, looking out the window.

“Hey,” He says, and Yonghoon’s eyes flickers toward him, “Good morning,”

In any other situation, Yonghoon would have smiled, and greeted him with the warmest words, worrying over him and taking care of him. Yonghoon doesn’t smile now, doesn’t show any expression as he regards Seoho with cold, calm, assessing eyes, before taking out a notepad from his pocket, “I need you to answer some questions.”

“Isn’t there a law that says I need to recover first before being interrogated?”

“The doctor says you’re stable enough for some questions.”

“Did you shoot me?”

Yonghoon takes a moment before answering, “We acted based on protocol towards subject that resisted arrest. The bullet on your thigh has been extracted out.”

That explains the pain, then.

“Where were you at Saturday, 10 March?” Yonghoon asks, doesn’t wait for Seoho to catch up.

10 March was the day he was meeting with Kiwook. “I don’t remember. But if it’s a Saturday, I was probably home.”

“Is there someone or something that could prove your statement?”

“I already said I don’t remember.”

Yonghoon sighs, places his palm on his thigh, “Please try to remember,” he says, “I don’t want to make this harder than necessary,”

“I really don’t remember,” Seoho looks straight at Yonghoon’s face, schooling his face. “My days aren’t special. I can’t remember every single one of it.”

In any other situation, Yonghoon would contradict him, would comfort him and say that every day is special, whether he remembers it or not, because life is a gift, even in the bad days. This Yonghoon right now doesn’t give him that, doesn’t even change his expression.

“There must be something, Seoho,” Yonghoon tries to look away, but decides against it, and looks down instead, “There must be something you remember, even if it’s a small thing,”

“I want a lawyer,” Seoho says, trying to sound more confident that he feels, “Please let me call Son Dongmyeong.”

Seoho pretends to be, but he actually doesn’t know much about law, doesn’t know whether saying that will grant him a time away from interrogation like what he saw in movies. Or the possibility of Yonghoon granting it. For all he knows, Yonghoon can pretend he never said anything. The room isn’t watched. Their conversation isn’t recorded.

But Yonghoon just looks at him for a long second before closing his notepad, “We will lend you a phone.”

-

Seoho struggles with the landline. It’s hard to maneuver a phone when his hand is tethered to an IV and his other hand is handcuffed to the bed. But he manages, and dials a number he memorizes precisely for this situation. It’s a bit tricky to bargain for privacy, but he guesses he bullshitted his way enough to let them leave him alone for the call. The line connects, and he hears the ding of the phone on the other end, “Dongju,” he says, softly, wary of the ears outside of the room.

“Hyung,” It’s impressive how Dongju still recognizes his voice, hushed as it is.

“I need your help,”

A sigh, and Seoho is sure Dongju is rolling his eyes, “You should have called Dongmyeong, not me, you know,”

“No, Dongju,” Seoho cuts, “This time I really need _your_ help,”

The line goes quiet for a moment, “You want to get them out too? You know it won’t be easy.”

“I know,” Seoho hesitates, but it’s the only thing he can think of, the only solution to escape this, completely, “But it must be done.”

“You haven’t paid your favor last time.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Fine then. But I’m still not cleaning your mess,”

“Yeah. That’s why I have Dongmyeong, right?”

The line gets disconnected, but Seoho knows that his favor has been granted.

-

True to his reputation, Dongmyeong visits him in the morning, bringing a fruit basket that looks more like decoration than actual gift.

“Dongmyeong, how are—“

“Don’t.” Dongmyeong says, glancing at the door, “You don’t have to worry, but it’s safer if you don’t ask anything.”

Seoho nods slowly, thankful that Dongmyeong understands. Knowing that at least Keonhee and Kiwook weren’t captured puts his mind more at ease.

“I’m getting you out here as fast as possible. We have to prepare for the court.”

He knows that it mostly means staying quiet and agrees with whatever Dongmyeong says, so he’s not sure why they have to do it at all. But, he guesses, Dongmyeong needs to keep up appearances as a rightful legal advisor. Walking in the side of the law is troublesome.

Dongmyeong starts to read something aloud from the document he brings, something about courtroom right that Seoho doesn’t really understand. He goes on and on until he almost reaches the end of the page, and then, in between the sentences, Dongmyeong slips a hushed _they’re safe, but don’t try to meet them_ , and then continues on reading.

Seoho doesn’t cut him, doesn’t ask for clarification. He closes his eyes and drones out the rest, until Dongmyeong deems it enough and leaves.

He doesn’t get any visit from Yonghoon again, or from other officers, after that.

-

The courtroom still doesn’t feel pleasant. Dongmyeong performs excellently, debunking every bit of accusation with argument that Seoho himself isn’t sure where he gets. He certainly never said anything.

Seoho was tried as alleged accomplice, so there really isn’t much thing that can be held against him, but the whole process is still one big hassle and a half. They went through it with minimal pain mostly because Dongmyeong is working miracles with Dongju behind his back.

He knows Yonghoon is attending, there with standing guard with some other officers, and Seoho desperately wants to reach him, because this might be the last time they get to see each other. He wants to salvage it, or say good bye, at least, for the sake of the friendship that wasn’t a lie. But he couldn’t afford it, couldn’t afford to bear the pain of seeing Yonghoon’s cold eyes ever again, and so he decides to never look back.

Apparently, that doesn’t work as well as he thought.

“Can I talk to you?”

Seoho is stopped by Yonghoon, and he wonders if it would be against court law, for a police officer to talk to a suspect. But Dongmyeong only tilts his head at him, as if asking him if he should step up. It means that talking to Yonghoon is a permissible option, so Seoho sighs and squares up his shoulder.

“After ruining my life?”

Yonghoon winces, a little bitter, but Seoho knows now, knows that it’s not a sorry, not a desperation, “I’m not giving up, Seoho.”

Seoho bristles, because, despite everything that he went through, despite the exorbitant fees the twins would later charge him, he still couldn’t gain the trust of the one he cares the most, “I’m proven _innocent_ , what more do you want?”

There’s a little flinch in Yonghoon’s posture, fingers drumming his thigh, nervous, guilty, but there’s also determination as he says, “I will catch the cartel, with or without your help.”

“It has nothing to do with me anymore,” Seoho walks past Yonghoon, purposely avoiding any contact, Dongmyeong following him not long after.

Yonghoon doesn’t even try to stop him.

“Wow, the amount of sexual tension,” Dongmyeong comments, once they’re successfully out of earshot, out of sight.

Seoho pushes Dongmyeong’s to the wall, growling, “We do _not_ have sexual tension, Dongmyeong. My life is not a joke.”

Dongmyeong raises his eyebrows, pouting his lips in the exasperating way only he can pull off. They stare at each other for a few seconds, before Dongmyeong uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch Seoho’s palm on his shoulder, gingerly removing it, “To me, hyung, this is all just a game. I don’t fucking care about your love life or whatever. And you don’t get to be mad at me after I just literally saved your life and your two little birds.”

Seoho sucks off his breathe, realizing. Fuck, he’d been too occupied with anger that he forgot his place, “Dongmyeong, I’m—“

“Say sorry when you’ve calmed down. There’s still a few documents you need to study. Text you later. You’re lucky Dongju likes you.”

Dongmyeong leaves him, and Seoho sighs, letting himself flop on the cold court building wall.

At least, from now on, they’re safe.

-

“I really don’t want to keep doing this.” Dongju says, handing him three sets of forged identities. It’s been two weeks after all the court process are finished and finalized. The spotlight has shifted. The raid has been quite a failure, with most of the cartel running away, along with their leader. But they captured some people, ones that Seoho never knew personally, probably newer recruits. Sooner or later, they’d probably rat the rest out, and Seoho doesn’t want to be there when it happens. They need to get away.

“I also hope that it’s going to be the last time.”

Dongju looks at him, “You’re lucky I like you enough.”

“Funny, Dongmyeong said the same thing.” Seoho glances at the stack of paper in front of him. ID cards, birth certificate, driving license, and even passports. He owes Dongju his life, literally. “Thank you, Dongju.”

“Let’s not meet again,” Dongju says, waiting for Seoho to put away the documents into his backpack before giving him three midnight bus tickets, “Take care, hyung,”

“Sure.”

-

When they meet again, years later, everything is different, yet achingly familiar.

Yonghoon is holding a paper bag full of vegetables and groceries, just like the first time they met. He still holds it in front of him, letting the huge bag covering half his path, with celery hanging precariously off the carrot peeking out on the corner of the bag. There's a little elevated floor that he wouldn't see a few steps ahead, and Seoho is sure Yonghoon would stumble, and, just like when they first met, have his shopping items scattered everywhere while he panics and apologizes while trying to reach the mushroom that had been rolling down the aisle.

This time, Seoho wants to leave him like that, wants to forget the intention of ever helping him. The shop here is considerably smaller than the one three years ago, so even without Seoho's help, Yonghoon wouldn't lose his mushrooms. He wants to run, yet he's rooted in indecision.

Unlike three years ago, however, present Yonghoon doesn't trip down the step—he avoided it, just barely, and then he sees Seoho, standing there with a pack of microwavable dumpling in hand.

"Seoho," Yonghoon starts,

and Seoho bolts.

"Seoho,"

Just like three years ago, Yonghoon finds him. It’s under closed down bridge, and Seoho wonders if his instinct will always tell him to run to abandoned place. He’s so tired of running.

"I might not be Seoho anymore," Seoho cuts, sounding sharper than he had intended, "thanks to you,"

Yonghoon gulps, stares at his feet. He shakes his fringe, and Seoho recognizes it as his habit of forming thought, of constructing sentences. It sobers him, that, even now, his habit hasn’t really changed. Time doesn't cut him slack, though, as Seoho sees the line in the corner of his eyes growing deeper, the frown in his forehead more pronounced. Has Yonghoon's cheek always look this sunken? Seoho honestly can't remember.

"May I still call you Seoho, at least?"

Seoho wants to spit, wants to curse, but all he can say is a weak, "Yes, you may." Even after all this time, he’s still so fond of the other.

"Okay, yeah," Yonghoon tries again, stringing words that he hopes make more sense than the chaos in his mind, "Seoho, I'm not chasing you."

"I know," Seoho says, with the powerlessness of someone who has lost everything, "Or else you would bring gun and handcuff, not grocery."

"Seoho, that's—"

"I have nothing to give you anymore. I didn't have it then, and I don't have it now."

Yonghoon doesn't reply to him. Only stares with mouth half-open, seemingly at a loss of word, "I'm sorry," he finally says.

Seoho huffs, knowing that it's no use, that they're too far gone to ever be able to fix what once was, "Why are you here, hyung?" There was a time when calling him that way brings out comfort and security, but right now it all just sounds like insult.

"I'm—" Yonghoon pauses, laughs a little, then, "You probably wouldn't care, but I transferred here."

Wrong. Seoho cares. He never stopped thinking about Yonghoon, no matter how often he wished he hadn’t. He didn’t manage to become a priest or a monk, but he did pray every day, since then, that maybe, there’s a fate that would make it possible for them to be with each other without lies and deceit, "So you're still a police officer,"

"Yeah. Yeah I am."

There's a flicker of glance that Seoho catches, on the corner of his eyes. Yonghoon wants to get closer. But Seoho can't permit that, not yet.

They end up walking through the houses, passing flower shops and small arcades, fish sellers and _noraebang_. "This place is lovely," Seoho says as they pass a particularly nice decorated house, "You'll like it here."

Yonghoon looks up and around, as if seeing the neighborhood for the first time. And he might be, for all Seoho knows, because if he has been here for long, Seoho would have noticed. He wonders why Dongju didn't warn him, but then remembers that the last time they exchanged words was when Seoho was frantically trying to cover his traces. It was dangerous then, to stay in contact, and Seoho doesn't know how long would be safe enough to start contacting Dongju again. He'd think two years is a decent enough time, but now, faced with Yonghoon in the flesh, he's not so sure anymore. Fate does have a way to play with human.

"Yeah, it seems nice." Yonghoon says, "Say, do you want to come over?"

Againts his better judgement, Seoho agrees.

They’re making lunch, and Seoho is hit with a strong sense of déjà vu. It’s a small house instead of an apartment, now, but it’s decorated in very similar way that Seoho gets shiver. The bookshelves, the framed pictures, the sofa, it’s almost like he’s thrown back in time.

Yonghoon lets him look around as he starts cooking, and it’s so achingly familiar that Seoho feels like nothing has ever happened between them, that they weren’t two people of the opposite sides.

But it’s still apparent, the tension in the air, the way they keep saying things but then stop themselves, the way they can’t look into each other’s eyes without feeling guilty. And it’s not fair, because Yonghoon had been right about him, that he’s an accomplice, that he wasn’t wrongly accused, that he’s living on a falsified identities. But to admit it means to endanger everything he has worked for, and he can’t put Keonhee through that, not again.

It’s the most awkward lunch Seoho has ever had, even more so than his occasional lunches with Kiwook.

"I didn't mean what I said," Seoho says, finally, when he’s almost on his last spoonful of chicken soup, “When I said you ruined my life, I didn’t mean it.”

Yonghoon grimaces, looking down. He does that a lot, today, "Does that kind of thing even matter anymore?"

"There's a little bit of truth in everything I said," Seoho continues, as if his heart doesn't beat a thousand times a minute, just by saying that. After years of lying, even half-truth is overbearing. "But I've always been a liar.”

"Does that mean that this, now, is a lie, too?"

Seoho doesn't answer.

“It’s okay,” Yonghoon says, taking mercy on him, “You don’t have to explain.” He laughs, the first laugh that he lets out, and Seoho misses it so much, misses the way it makes Yonghoon’s face so much brighter, misses the way it’d calm him down, tether him to the ground, make him feel like he deserved kindness, “It’s probably better if you don’t explain.”

“What do you want, hyung?” Seoho asks, because there’s no reason Yonghoon would want anything to do with him anymore. The cartel leader has been captured five months after the first raid, far away from the place Seoho resided, then. Thankfully, neither Youngjo, Hwanwoong, nor Harin had been on the list. Dongju probably bailed them out, too. Even so, Yonghoon had accomplished his goal. “You don’t need to chase me anymore.”

“I’m not chasing you, just—” Yonghoon says, fidgeting with his spoon, and Seoho wants to ask again, because it’s not fair that Yonghoon is the one fidgeting, because Yonghoon just did what he had to do. But Yonghoon closes his eyes, “Can we be friends again?”

Seoho raises his eyebrow, “Friends?”

“Yeah, friends, like we used to. This time I’m the one who just moved into the village, and I’m just—I guess I’m just glad I met you.”

Seoho raises his eyebrows, wanting to refuse, to deny, because _we were never friends_. They were merely part of a plan. They could never be friends. But Yonghoon’s eyes glimmer with sincerity, and it’s still as genuine as it was years ago. Seoho thinks that of course, of course Yonghoon would be stupid enough to believe him a second time. Seoho knows this perfectly, knows that at this point he’d be saying yes just to be selfish, considers saying exactly that, but instead, he chooses to lie again, "Yeah, we can."

“Thank you, Seoho.”

**Author's Note:**

> [cc](curiouscat.me/Azca_Sky) | [twt](https://twitter.com/azcasky)


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